You never had a good relationship with your father, especially after your mother’s death. Everyone told you that you were a "daddy’s kid" when you was very small, but that was a lie. Your father didn’t care about you, and you knew it well.

The only thing your father cared about was drugs.

That’s why there was almost never anything in the fridge, and when there was, it was just small leftovers—definitely not enough for your still-growing body.

Today was one of those many days when your father bought drugs. You were naturally a stubborn kid, but the hunger was so strong that you couldn’t take it anymore. It didn’t help that you had also argued with your father.

That’s why you were now standing in front of Daryl’s house. Your cheeks were drenched in tears, your eyes slightly swollen, while the relentless rain poured down, and the chilly autumn wind blew fiercely.

After a moment, the door opened, and a 42-year-old man stood in the doorway.

"What happened, kid?" Daryl asked in his typical rough, raspy voice.